


I'll be yours, Goodneighbor

by TreacherousThoughts



Series: Charlie Mads vs the Commonwealth [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Body Horror, Drug Use, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacherousThoughts/pseuds/TreacherousThoughts
Summary: In their tour of the Commonwealth, Charlie Mads comes upon Goodneighbor for the first time...in this playthrough of the game. With their knowledge of the game's story, will Charlie have an easy in when it comes to being the mayor's new friend? Or will it all blow up in their face when things don't go exactly how they were expecting?
Relationships: John Hancock & Original Character(s)
Series: Charlie Mads vs the Commonwealth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985833
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Hello 'Neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> PC players will, perhaps, recognize the reference used for Goodneighbor as "Better Goodneighbor", by Mika999 on NexusMods. It's a must, every time I play. Their "Better The Third Rail" is also used as a point of reference, albeit not as heavily. I recommend looking up images of both for your reading pleasure.

Charlie loved Goodneighbor with every shred of their being, even during the Before. 

They found it the same way in every single playthrough of their game, stumbling through the Boston Commons in the middle of the night, searching for safe harbor. They’d always had a poor sense of direction, as it always took them so long just to get there to begin with, but the timing was never less than anything biblical. A light in the darkness, a promise of safe haven after hours of dodging bullets, threats, and in Pickman’s Case, whispered words of companionship. 

And there was always John, striding out of the ally in front of the Old State House, his smirk as sharp as the knife he used to stab Finn with, once, twice, and that magical third. It was love at first sight, every single time, but damn if his town wasn’t always in close running for second place. 

The people, the possibilities, the very intention of its revitalization at the Ghoul’s hands screamed home for Mads. A home for the beaten, the despised, and the misunderstood, all led by a man who was all of the above and then some. A home that could maybe be Mads, too. 

Shame like everything else in the game it was never given the face lift it deserved without some kind of mod. Not to mention a whole lot of imagination. 

But this time, it was different. The sun was out and shining when they found those neon lights again, and finally Mads didn’t have to imagine anymore. 

From the get-go, ‘Neighbor was a shocker. The entrance wasn’t just some hole in the wall door, it was a pair of steel monsters, flanked by a guard station on one side, and a barn on the other. A bottom of one Brahmin poked out as it’s handler finished leading across the swept, mismatched tiles of the street, and Charlie recognized at once the luggage of a trading caravan. As for the moderately sized guard station, there was a crooked billboard behind it, and on it, the glowing letters of Goodneighbor, it’s underlining arrow pointing straight towards the spread doors of the town. 

Heart beating wild, Charlie dropped their rifle from their shoulders to their side as they approached, distantly aware of the eyeful they were getting of the man behind the counter of the booth. Not so distantly they were aware of a turret humming nearby, several in fact, as they finally remembered themselves and spotted the pointed ends of guns in the shadows of the buildings above. 

“Hey, bird-brain,” the rasped voice of the Ghoul guard finally spoke up, and Charlie’s eyes landed on the couple taking point in front of them. One smooth skin, one Ghoul, both wearing the customary plaid of the neighborhood guard...and then some? They had chest armor, shoulder guards, and there was even a helmet hanging out by the wayside, next to an empty Nuka bottle on the counter. 

“You’re looking green,” the Ghoul continued, looking Charlie over and Mads squinted at the comment. “Got business here in town?” 

“Eh, Marisha, lay off the kid,” the person next to them said, almost chastising, and the weapon in their own hand held a little looser then their partners. “Don’t want to scare off new faces with a lack of hospitality.” 

“Marisha” grimaced, huffing a bit and disturbing the ruffle of red hair that fell over their forehead from the brim of their hat. “What, I’m being nice,” they said, the narrow set of their black eyes saying differently. Looking over the two, Charlie took in the pair quickly. Red headed Ghoul, slightly higher pitched voice, but rounder, beefier arms and wide hips. The smooth skin was Caucasian, and vaguely reminded Charlie some Red Forman type, but nicer and wearing a plaid suit. 

“Ain’t I being nice,” Marisha said, this time to Charlie, and Mads had to smile at her attempt at a “welcoming” grin. 

“Plenty! You’re the first one to say hi to me all day,” they said, shrugging. 

The Ghoul swung back to their partner, “See! Listen to the guy, I’m nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, A for effort, kid,” the smooth skin replied, glancing back to Charlie when Marisha didn’t argue further, even with the kid comment. “But Marisha’s right. You’re new, got any plans for town? Just visiting?”

“Oh, yeah,” Charlie said, hooking a thumb towards the gates. “Looking for work, and maybe to help out a little. I’ve heard a lot about this place and seriously had to see it for myself.”

“That’s good! Good for Goodneigbor, I always say. Nice to have someone willing to help out,” the man cracked a smile, internally laughing at his own joke evidently. “Head to the bar for the bounty board. The mayor might have work, but typically he deals that stuff out to his right hand.”

Gotta be Fahrenheit, Mads thought, giddy with anticipation. Hopefully the woman was ten times more intimidating in person then on the screen. Charlie thanked them both, loving Marisha every second more as the Ghoul grunted a goodbye, then immediately turned to the other guy for feedback.

That was stupid cute, Mads laughed, distracted as the neared the doors, but not enough to miss the tail end of the conversation behind them.

“...bird, like a cockatoo, you know? Ma had one way back when.”

It was the hair. 

The swept streets of the Commons spread out into Goodneighbor, and with Charlie’s first proper steps into the town, they nearly lost their breath at the sight before them. The town had been restored in a hodgepodge of resplendent glory, and colors filled the air with life.

Beside the entrance was a stage: a raised, wooden platform protected by a round, overhanging roof of steel. Being the middle of the day, the spotlights were turned off, but dead center a stranger sat on a stool, playing for a crowd that dotted the mismatched chairs of the audience. Beyond the short, stone wall separating the entrance area from the rest of the town, Daisy’s Discounts and KL-E-O's shops had actual, intact store fronts. The door to Daisy’s was painted green, and propped open with a clay flower pot, one person walking out and returning a hat to their head as Charlie marveled at the world around them. 

Above the stage, flower boxes dotted the repaired windows of the building behind it. A few were open to the warm weather, one sporting a radio that could just barely be heard over the man on stage. The windows of the Old State House were the same, if not completely filled in with glass, and a healthy spread of green vinery was making its way up through the cracks of its red, brick siding. 

Charlie promised themselves that they would see the rest of Goodneighbor in due time, but like everything they savored, they were taking it in small bites, and Daisy’s was first on the menu. Leaving behind the stage they made for her shop, already smiling when they noticed the white flowers sprouting from the pot by the door, and then some. Tiny, clumsily drawn flowers outlined the window panes of the door, something that looked better fit to open up to a back porch than an entrance to a general store. It fit in perfectly to the flecking greens and browns of the exterior. 

Above the door was a set of chimes, near to silent with the lack of breeze, and the within was dimly lit only by the natural lighting of the outside. A smooth skin beside the entrance nodded at Charlie from their folded chair, the heat the guard was packing left by a glass of something yellow near their foot, but otherwise they didn’t put down their tattered book. 

“Well, there’s a fresh face,” a voice piped up from within the shop, and Charlie spotted the one and only Daisy standing up from behind her counter, her smile as curious as it was friendly. Sporting a suit of her own, Daisy had put aside the jacket in the summer heat, but her grayed hair was coiffed nicely, pulled back in a tidy bun that framed her weathered face as prettily as a picture. 

The only thing normal about the shop was the close proximity to the front that the counter had, otherwise, it was stocked wallpapered wall to wooden ceiling with shelves and the goods they stored. Just by where they stood, Charlie spotted boxes of ammunition, cans of rations, folded clothing, and even toys. Lazily above where the proprietor stood a fan turned, the blades leaf shaped, and like the windows, the edges of her counter were painted with tiny pictures of white flowers in bloom. 

“And as cute as a sunflower, to boot,” Daisy continued, leaning into her post with a warmth to her eyes that Charlie at once appreciated. 

“Flower? That’s a welcome change from the cockatoo comments!”

“Cockatoo? Now that you mention it,” Daisy starts, squinting upwards to Charlie knew where. Quickly approaching the counter, they raised their hand in surrender, hoping to chase that impression right away. 

“Wait, no, sunflower is so much better. Please!”

Daisy’s face flitted to surprise, before she began chuckling, the sound reminding Charlie of crumpling paper. “Alright, I give! But,” her smile turned into something clever, “only if you buy something, I might consider playing nice.”

“Now that you mention it,” Charlie’s gaze flitted around the shop, an idea coming to mind. “Got any light reading? The radio is nice on a rainy day, but the music selection gets a little tired after a while.” 

Daisy sniffed at Charlie’s polite grin, her own twisting into a light scowl. “Tired is putting it mildly, sweetheart. That kid from Diamond City is liable to run me up the wall if I hear him stutter through another introduction of “Rocket 69” again,” she said, the roll of her eyes nearly invisible with their dark coloration. “It was cute the first three times, not the last fifteen.” 

“Maybe he just needs some incentive,” Charlie thought out loud, their brow furrowing when they thought of that little quest that they might...someday get to. Playing wingman for the poor DJ sounded like something they could afford to avoid. 

But Daisy was shrugging, and Mads put a tack in that for later. “Whatever the case, I’m sorry to say that I can’t be much of a help,” she said. Waving a hand towards the back of the shop, the disappointment in her own face was enough to give it all away before it was said: “Nothing to read here. You want rations, stimpacks, or some vegetable seeds, I can help you out. But a good book has always been hard to come by.”

Charlie frowned, but began to understand. “I’m guessing it’s a little harder to write nowadays.” 

“That’s putting it mildly,” Daisy shook her head softly. “High demand and short supply: materials are few and far between, ink, paper, and the brains to do the work, included. If you want the written word, you’ll have to risk scavenging yourself.” 

Charlie blew out a breath, puffed cheeks slowly becoming deflated. Reading was one past time they hadn’t considered recently, but next to games a decent book had always been their go-to for entertainment. Mads was losing a lot by coming to this world but reading? That had never crossed their mind. “The library, couldn’t someone just...bring it all here and build one where it’s safer?”

Daisy’s brow rose, the effect obvious despite the lack of hair there. “Well, the idea’s crossed my mind but no one else has mentioned it,” she said, straightening up further as the topic caught her interest. “The mayor’s talked about getting a proper school set up for the kids around town, but with everything else to consider, no one’s had the time to do anything about it.”

The mayor, she meant John. Ideas for education, that little tidbit was never dropped in the game! Trying to hide their excitement at whatever else this could mean that there was left to dig up about the so far elusive mayor, Charlie jumped on their fledgling plan at once. “Just need to talk to the right people,” they said, not bothering to hide their smile. “I’m looking for work, and the Boston Library has been high on my list for checking out for a while now.” 

That was putting it mildly. Meeting John and purging Goodneighbor of all of its available quests had been up there near to day one. Doing Daisy a favor was one of the prime targets, but this? As always, things were looking to be so much more than they could have hoped for. 

Appearing alarmed, Daisy stepped back from the counter, “Whoa, hold your horses, there,” she said, making Charlie waver with the change in mood. “The area ‘round ‘Neighbor has been cleared, but the library isn’t as easy to visit as it was two hundred years ago. New reading material would be nice, but you would be risking your neck for essentially a town full of strangers.”

Charlie relaxed. It was probably pretty weird for them to just up and throw themselves at the mercy of Super Mutants for a couple of books, but... “It’s not just for you guys though. Like I said, I’m looking for something to read,” their smile turned impish, and Charlie carded a hand through their hair, thinking of a certain someone. “Maybe if I help out a bit, I can meet the man in charge himself!”

“Sweetheart, if it’s Hancock you’re looking for, his door is always open,” Daisy said, mouth a tad exasperated. Charlie had to wonder how often people threw his name around for her to make a face like that. “He’s not like those stuffy busy buddies up in Diamond City. You wanna talk, I’m sure he’d be more than willing to listen.”

Charlie laughed shortly, far too fresh off of their experience of Diamond City to recall the city fondly. “Hard to have a bigger ego then with a McDonough on top,” they muttered, aware of the curious lilt of Daisy’s smile but not commenting. “Hey, you might be short on books, but there are a few things I could use.”

Daisy proved to be easy to chat with. Maybe it was her natural friendliness, a must given the woman’s occupation, but Charlie had always liked Daisy in game. Something about her seemed motherly, and Charlie found themselves as comfortable as they had been around Nick the day before. 

After selling some scav, and restocking their traveling supplies, Charlie left behind a thank you for the job opportunity, and a promise to stop by on the way out in a few days. It was bound to take more than one to fill up on the city properly, and Charlie was in no rush to leave just yet after their trek through Super Mutant territory. 

Out of Daisy’s, the next stop on Charlie’s list was right next door at _Kill or Be Killed_. The beautiful KL-E-O stood behind her counter, steel plating polished to a shine. She preened as much as an assaultron could when Charlie dropped a compliment (“Glad to see someone understands the beauty of something dangerous”), but warned them that flattery wouldn’t make their new rifle any cheaper. Charlie left with a new gun, and a faint concern over how many people they were bound to fall head over heels with in the town before the day was even over. 

A couple were hanging out in the ally beside the gun store, watching a man with a few cards swipe the bent pieces of paper over a makeshift table. A helpful sign beside his stall pointed the way towards the market, the wood painted white and it’s letters curling neatly, and Charlie hummed in thought. What else was there outside of the bar...?

Turning the corner, Charlie stopped short.

A whole lot, apparently. 

The cracked square underneath the State House Balcony sported an exchange bank, the entrance wide open to the elements and showing off a large collection of safes, the number exceptional even from where they stood. A bot was behind its counter, oscillating gently i na quiet sputter. A couple of tables and chairs stood outside the bank, a resident or two taking a rest in the shade of the nearby buildings, and from where Charlie stood, the life of the market was quite obvious. 

Beyond a spray-painted tank, sitting sideways on a pile of neat rock and it’s back end pointed away, Charlie spotted the front of the Memory Den, as well as a couple of people sitting alongside the road. Underneath them were the faded colors of fraying rugs, and Charlie was taken aback by the array of items spread out before each of their claimed spots on the asphalt. _Actual street vendors._

Also running along the heart of the main street of Goodneighbor were multiple stalls set up in the same way. While some set directly on their rugs or in mismatched chairs, others stood behind makeshift counters of their own. One fellow relaxed under an open parasol, their space filled with glittering bottles and glassware, while, after moving further in, Charlie saw that from the back of the tank another was standing propped next to it’s open door, a sign sprouting from the rubble and declaring it as a chem station. 

In front of the actual State House was a raised platform, the wooden space protected by a red, cloth awning that fluttered in the breeze. A couple of people in chairs sat beneath, not obviously selling anything, but merely talking to one another sociably or looking out into the busy street as others passed by.

The wall of the State House was graffitied colorfully, but what stood out the most was the incomplete mural of a tall individual holding the hand of a child. A mother and their daughter, perhaps, as they both sported dresses that caught the still breeze coming up from the painted ocean at their feet. Their faces were hidden under the wide brim of sun hats, and the sky beyond them was a vibrant blue, matching the same blue that stretched over and beyond the town. 

Lights were strung between the buildings, and further down the road still, and so too were there lines of wash. Goodneighbor wasn’t just fuller, it was bigger, and Charlie was swept up in a wave of anxiety. An unprepared, but excited sort of anxiety. Bigger was better, bigger was new. 

Apologizing as someone commented on their lollygagging, a stranger side-stepped Charlie as they continued on their own business. Mads mumbled under their breath at the beautiful world around them, bright with music, the chatter of life, and the promise of something more. 

“Fucking hell.”

The Third Rail was bopping, and Charlie was taking it all in stride. 

Sitting at the bar, they examined the refreshed atmosphere around them. Pool table, improved lighting, and with a TV acting as a radio above their head, the place had yet to disappoint. Magnolia was absent, but the Ink Spots were playing, hitting a different cord of nostalgia Charlie hadn't expected. It was still early in the day, but there were a few people already in the most popular joint in Goodneighbor. 

“You going to marry that bar stool, or do you have somewhere better to be, sport,” the old Mister Handy, Charlie, muttered from behind the bar, and Mads turned back to him with a grin.

“Suffer my presence for a little longer, bro, I’m really enjoying myself here.”

The bot scoffed in indignation, throwing one clawed arm up in the air, but Mads called it a win when he didn’t automatically call for Ham to toss them from the bar. Not that Mads wouldn’t have minded, Ham seemed like a nice guy, and they got a kick out of greeting them like an old friend, Charlie going so far as to use his name.

The Ghoul had taken it like a champ, no doubt he was used to weirdos rolling into town on the fly, so no brows were raised, or questions asked. Yeah, Mads definitely liked Ham. Robot-Charlie on the hand had yet to warm up to them, but declaring that they were officially best friends because of their shared namesake probably had something to do with it. 

Charlie ordered another Nuka to soothe the poor bot’s nerves, but didn’t let the guy off the hook right away as they all but reached out to stop them from drifting away. “I heard there might be a chance of finding work down here?”

“What, didn’t you see the board by the door when you swanned in,” the Mister Handy voice sneered, and Charlie knew what he meant. Up top at the entrance to the subway a board was hung up, declaring various bits of news and offers for trade-ins. Besides the advertisements for singing lessons, and the warning of increased Mutant presence in the Commons, there were a few chances at earning caps, but nothing too serious. Requests for specific scavenge, and a bounty for Ferals by the river stood out the most, but it was a notice on breaking into Hallucigen that set Mads teeth on edge.

Thanks, but no thanks. More than likely Mads would run into the poster when they swung by the Rexford for a room, but for now they were staying clear of that fear factory. 

“Pre-war junk is old news, Charlie,” Charlie the human replied, grateful when Charlie the robot didn’t ignore them outright for the joke. “I’m a gun in need of hiring; what’s a meat person got to do to earn a living wage?”

The Mister Handy sighed, “Fine, but only if it’ll get you off my bloody back.” Charlie perked up when the bot tucked himself in closer to the counter, and they mimicked the action. “The Mayor’s been looking to deal with the Triggerman menace in the city. Cockamamy bastards got themselves holed up in a few blocks in town, and that wouldn’t be such a problem if they didn’t breed trouble like roaches caught in the sheets.”

Mads grimaced privately at that ever so neat comparison, and, not to mention, at the appearance of a more then stale quest. How many times had they finished this one in the original game? “When you say deal, do you mean the kind with bullets or the kind with words," Charlie asked, going along with the conversation all the same. Caps were caps, and they had wanted a foothold in Goodneighbor, after all. 

The bot t’ched. “Mayor Hancock has his ways. Fond of diplomacy, that one, but sure as ‘ell no stranger to taking things out in the street. But the last thing he needs is for an army of nutters with itchy fingers to come raining hellfire down on the town. These gents, they group loose, but they don't need a lot of incentive to come together and take out a common enemy. Especially if they think they might get somethin' sweet from it.”

“What's to stop these guys from drawing conclusions and figuring it was John that hired someone to take them out? Wouldn't that just draw the same result?”

“It would, it would,” the bot bobbed in place, miming a quiet nod. “But say a few days ago some birdie matching your description marched their way into one of their leader's hide outs and blew the place apart. Say they were last seen walking into Goodneighbor, and from there...” The Mister Handy had moved in close, his voice near hiss as he spoke. “Let's just say they might have a personal grudge of their own. No need to draw it back to the good Mayor with some spitfire running about with a chip on their shoulder.”

Charlie scoffed lightly, but felt more amused then even remotely offended by the metaphorical target the robot expected them to paint on their back. “And I walk out of here with an entire gang of thugs hot on my trail?”

“See I figure you did that yourself, gov, when you killed most of Skinny Malone’s men. But then, if you can take out that lot and the rest here with nary a scratch, it's no sweat off my chromed exterior,” the robot stated, said exterior gleaming under the lighting, and Charlie barely managed to muffle their laughter.

“Wait, hold up,” Mads raised both hands, a serious question that’s been plaguing their mind for years rising to the surface. “Why’d John—the mayor—let things get this bad to begin with? He had to have known it would have been a problem from the get go.”

“Thing is, birdie, the Triggerman were some of those that helped take care of the old law around here. They were set in nice when Vic ran the streets, but no one was fond of that bastard for what he was, so a few of them helped out in the extermination,” the robot went in, enthralling Mads with this new wealth of information. “A couple of questionable gents turned into a couple of handfuls. And now here we are, 200 in the pot, and up for the grabs if you’re willing to deal with the lot.”

“You’re worried that the Triggerman may try and take the town,” Mads concluded, taking his bob as a nod. “What’s with the guard, they’re dressed up as Triggerman. Are those connected?”

“One in the same, which makes it more of a problem in the long run. The guard is loyal to old Hancock, and the last thing we need is a civil war in the streets between a bunch of nutters in tacky clothing. They could just form up together, take the town as a whole and keep John alive, but Hancock isn’t just some man to sit by and act as a figurehead while others run his city for him.”

Mads finally got it. In the game it was kind of weird that the mission to exterminate the Triggerman existed at all. Perhaps it was meant to serve as an example of just how lax John had gotten, but without a proper explanation it never sat right with them. Well, the loot was good at least for the early levels, but lore wise it was kind of lazy writing.

There were still a few issues from the game that they had to confront, but Mads was less worried about them now that this one had been hashed out properly. Next is the one about selling drugs to kids, but that’s a monster for later. 

“I think I get where you’re coming from, Charlie,” Mads said to the robot, mind a blur with how much of an impression they could make with one afternoon and a backpack full of ammo. “200 you said?”

Once upon a time, napping had been one of Mads’ favorite hobbies. They dreamt often, and vividly, and the best ways of experiencing their favorite stories in the Before had been through dreaming. Once, they had even imagined meeting Hancock, but all they could remember of that particular night was the narrowed, black sheen of his eyes. They’d woken up troubled, confused as to why out of any event their mind could concoct it had to bring up an image of his disappointment.

Slamming their way into the final back door of the building they were in, Mads hoped it wasn’t the first thing they were going to see after they finally finished putting all of the Triggermen down. 

It was a simple plan: nap, hit all three houses, and try to keep the dying under a number of fingers they could tick off one hand. So far, they were down a solid zero, there was red iron dripping over one eye, and salting their tongue, but a strange thought was circling around in their head.

_They’ve gotten soft._

Soft wasn’t the sound of the solid split of a man’s skull under a well-slung pistol shot. Skin collapsing, bone splintered, eyes going wide until their irises floated up, up, like twin suns ascending, and moving backwards through time. 

Soft wasn’t the screech of someone’s cries as the terror hit home, well before the pain. Soft wasn’t the thrashing of limbs as they gurgled their last twist of breath, because the movies lied and death never comes quietly by any means. 

But that’s all they could see in these hired killers, men trying to make a dime their own way. Charlie hit one building after another, after another, and single handedly gunning down every last suit inside. 

It wasn’t quick by any means, sometimes it meant waiting a step, as they did now, crouching behind a wall of file cabinets and counting the seconds in beats of meter. A song sung under breath was enough to keep them distracted from the pounding of their heart, because good luck telling their monkey instinct they’d be just fine under the threat of gunfire. 

It helped, taking Charlie out of the moment while also keeping them grounded in it. It was that, or risk a panic, and they would rather avoid dying like a deer stuck in headlights, thank you. 

“ _Carry on my wayward son, for they’ll be peace when you are done_ ,” Charlie sounded, keeping their pistol gripped in their hand as they waited for the right moment to tear around the wall of steel.

“Are you seriously singing right now,” the pin-striped suit on the other side shouted through the cracked remains of his teeth. Charlie’d managed a decent blow before they went scrambling behind the barricade, and only a persistent unwillingness to not shoot someone in their back had stayed their hand from ending it then there. 

“What, you don’t like Kansas,” Mads called out in question, letting the wry breathlessness of their growing fatigue show itself by way of a smile. Three houses, ten plus men, and far too many flights of stairs. And people just watched as Charlie walked from one door to the next. Another day, another dollar. 

Except the number of guards had been picking up on the streets. It was getting dangerous, but luckily it had yet to spill out onto the cobblestones. Maybe they were there to clean up the mess afterwards-?

“You’re fucking crazy,” the suit shouted, breaking Charlie from their lapse of attention as they swung out, the end of a submachine gun going up to meet with Mads’ light of sight. 

Divine intervention snuck in and Charlie’s left hand shot out, knocking the gun wide. The gun blast shot through the top of their hair, plaster rained from the ceiling, and Mads had time enough not to think as they jammed their own weapon into the man’s gut. They fired twice in quick succession, only letting their arm fall when the man’s body went first. 

He hit the floorboards, more than a hundred pounds plus pounds of solid flesh, and his gun clattered beside him. As the red began to spread Charlie saw that his eyes had already gone white, the pupils turned up and away from the world. 

Mads was breathing hard, the rasping of their breath not the only sound they picked up as Charlie allowed themselves to wait a moment, just a moment, and take in the walls around them. There was no creaking of wood, no scurrying steps, or cries of revenge this time. Just the world outside, as people went on about things despite the obvious deathmatch going on within the building. 

The people of the Commonwealth were truly amazing. 

Shaking the sweat from their skin, Charlie refocused their vision and began making their way out of the room. Passed upturned chairs, the cooling bodies of their former occupants, and the scattered remains of their lives that came in more forms then the physical matter shed from their corpses. Upturned cards, rumbled covers of upholstered chairs, muddy tracks from a night before, even a single shot of whisky to be found on a side table on the second floor. 

By the time Charlie was back on the first they had become aware of the growing smell. Humans did that, ghoul or smooth skin, they never went without making it as messy as possible. It was awful the first time they witnessed it, and just plain tiring the last. 

Charlie stopped on the first floor. The hotel was too far away for their tastes, the shake of their legs too loud to stomach, and they opted for planting themselves on an upturned crate by the front entrance. A sigh of relief shook their bones as they finally sat, the aches of running, punching, and generally trying to stay alive catching up with them fast. 

It wasn’t as bad as the first few times, it would never be as awful as Concord was, but Charlie had to catch their breath. Holding up their gun to the light, they pulled out a rag from their pocket, began working a shine onto it’s surface, and continued singing where they left off.

They were snapping the chamber closed when the sound of black, leather boots crossing the threshold of chaos around them reached their ears. A long swatch of red entered the room, someone’s buttoned best embroidered with fraying gold, and a sawed off, double barreled shotgun was tipped onto the stranger’s shoulder as they walked in. 

“ _Masquerading as a man with a reason, my charade is the event of the season_ ,” Mads intoned, looking up and through the fall of their hair at the sight of the mayor himself, and those dark, dark eyes of his. “ _And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know_.”

Gunshots echoed through the allies of Goodneighbor, carried on the lips of its citizens, and the guard rallied behind John as he made his way to the heart of the storm brewing in his humble settlement. People stood back and watched as he marched passed, hired guns falling in line with narrowed eyes and tilted looks of question as he headed for the carnage. He knew what was going on, hard to miss it with where the mayhem that was taking place, and his bartender had dropped the news hours before the mess hit the pavement.

Some desperate soul had snatched up the ransom on the itchy Triggers in town and by the sounds of it, they were faring better than the nuisance the stranger was doing him the great favor of dealing with. 

“Thought we’d sit this one out, boss,” a fellow Ghoul by the door said, the foreign lilt of his accent giving him away, even if the tied knot of long, red hair hadn’t already done the job. 

“Good work, Jacko,” John spoke sincerely, clapping the Irish guard on the shoulder before looking back at the hideout. It’d fallen silent a few minutes before, only the lack of scattering bodies out the entrance singling any flight of enraged survivors. John didn’t take it at face value though, and kept his gun in hand, opening the door with trailing sights of ready men behind him as he went. 

Hancock was there because there was a mess to clean up either way. If the triggermen survived, then he had nerves to settle. No one knew about his mission to cull the number of gangsters in his town, but it’d be damn suspicious if he didn’t look into a firefight of this level in his own city. Now if they were dead, then maybe he had someone to thank, and hell if he didn’t want to see the face of the one who’d ripped through an army of guns in less than an afternoon. 

“Weird bloke, wouldn’t stop chattering my ear off for a moment,” the Mister Handy had said across from John, the man partaking in wetting his tongue to help sharpen the round edges of a day spent dealing with paperwork. “Head screwed on tighter than most, though. I’d watch it there, Hancock. This ain’t the normal sort.”

Normal sort meant blown out. On life, on medication, on whatever the ‘Wealth threw their way next. John wanted to say he missed that sort of desperation, and damned if he didn’t, but that wasn’t what he saw when he saw them first.

The stranger was sitting on a crate near the door when John walked in, their head tilting up as fingers continued to work at the weapon in their head. The mayor heard the words dropping from their lips, lyrics trailing like a hymn, and a pair of eyes shot with gold met his from in the shadowed exterior of the room around them. Their blond hair glowed in the catch of the sun, a partially blocked window outlining their shoulders in winking light, and blood was threatening to stain the soles of their strangely white shoes.

John thought he’d walk into a building to meet the stare of a killer, dressed to the nines in steel, and packing even worse. This cut of sunshine with their bare, dotted shoulders, and pink lips seemed anything but.

What he expected even less was what they said next, the corners of their brightening eyes crinkling and freckles swimming along like fish as their mouth spread into a smile. “There you are.”

John doesn’t know this one, but he thinks he knows something about them. Smoothskin, not just because of the lack of ghoulification, either. Fresh scars here and there, small swipes to a light dusting of shot on one shoulder. It all disappears at the right angle, and even in the worn clothing, they look pristine. Trousers, a vest, a sleeveless shirt, at least six pockets and two holsters within sight. One knife, and a gun in their hand. Hair as yellow as the faded daisies on his dead mother’s favorite dress. The memory is unexpected, but unobtrusive, and as close as this one is to being Vault-Fresh they don’t flinch at the sight of him. Used to his kind or not by now, he’s not sure, but he appreciates the lack of revulsion. 

No, he doesn’t have a name, but so far they’ve gunned down a small army of men, put a smile on Daisy’s face, and welcomed him with a genuine grin of their own; he wants to know it.

“Sorry I took so long,” the mayor replied, smile as smooth as silk, and eyes catching sparks of fire like flint against steel, his sight just as black, and just as sharp. “Did you do all this just to get my attention?” He glanced around the room, more for show Mads knows then anything. The mayor had to of gotten a good look at the place as soon as he walked in. Safety first, that meant covering all fire exits, and knowing where, and perhaps who, to shoot. “That’s damn sweet. And here I normally expect flowers.” 

“Aw, you noticed? I didn’t want to play up a cliché, but maybe I’ll pick some hubflowers for later,” Charlie laughed, finally standing up from their box. All eyes are on them, the guards’ hands tight on their drawn weapons as Mads tucks away the rag, and they holster their own gun with it. 

Hancock’s eyes don’t leave theirs as they snap to attention, saluting dorkily from where they stood, “Lieutenant Charlie Amelia Mads of the local Minutemen Militia, at your service,” they state, still smiling, and finally dropping their hand to offer it to the mayor.

When John takes theirs, his handshake is firm, his skin as warm as worn leather under the sun, and just as soft. Charlie has to ignore the flush of red that blooms across their neck at the sudden, intrusive thought that pervades their mind: he was real. It remains, even when their handshake ends. 

“You're Mayor John Hancock, after the Founding Father, right?”

John makes some near invisible motion that has his men leave his side to fan out, some walking around the bottom floor while a pair split off to walk topside. Charlie made no comment, still stuck in the starry magic of the moment, to be honest.

“Suit n’ all,” Hancock said, shrugging the red of his shoulders, and Charlie took a beat to appreciate how well he’s kept up with it. Love and care, they notice, but with his connections to the Railroad, could there be some ballistic weave tucked up those sleeves? “John Hancock, original hoodlum. I’d like to think I take after him.”

“By the people,” Charlie nodded, a warm familiarity in their throat for the reminder. They always loved his insistence on following the rhetoric, and it was obvious by the comparisons between this place and Diamond City that it really made a difference. Playing the game, they worried that he followed it to a fault, but here, Goodneighbor flourished under his leadership. 

“For the people,” he finished, that smirk disappearing a tad into something more...formal, or as formal as steel could get. “I’ve got no serious loyalty with the local gangs, but everyone’s heard of the bird who wiped through a Vault full of men. Word traveled when you walked into town, from the storefronts, to the bar, to here.” The bar, so John knew they accepted the job. “This got another pin in it, or can we call it good? I don’t need my town getting roped into a blood feud.”

Accepting the job could have been the cherry on top of one delicious revenge pie. John probably appreciated the extermination, but who’s to say that the flies that were pestering him hadn’t been replaced by one, big, hairy spider. 

“Job well done, if you’ll call it that,” Charlie said, smile dropping when they saw again the bodies around them. Guards were turning over the few nearby, crossing arms and preparing for removal. How normal were shootouts, anyways? But the pin striped walls were listening, and Charlie still had to make sure this didn’t tie back to the mayor. “There was a bounty on my head. I know they don’t corrbriate much, but everyone needs a few caps to rub together. I planned on talking it out, but even in the Vault, they shot first.”

“Bad case of itchy trigger fingers?”

“Seems to be a problem here in Boston,” Charlie grinned mirthlessly, “But that’s the end of it. Scouts honor.”

John cut a short laugh, making Charlie’s smile turn genuine. “Hell, you’re probably the closest thing to a scout I’ll ever see, so I’ll take your word for it. I’m all for letting people settle personal vendettas, that’s half of what this town has going for it.” God, did he have a point, but Mads felt something in them untense. “But remember who’s in charge, and we won’t have a problem.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” Charlie saluted again, two fingers this time, and enjoyed the resulting huff of amusement. They could really enjoy this. “I’m going to go ruin someone else’s day. But let me know if you need me, by the way. I’m kinda good at...” Mads peeked at a body as it was hauled out of the room and into the open air of the town. “Stuff.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

A warning, and a promise.


	2. No-Nose for Buisness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this will be of anyone's interest, but honestly I love this project enough that I can't help but share it. If it seems to be a bit much for only three chapters, never fear! I have other parts that will be posted over time at my leisure, from throughout Charlie's adventure.

"Okay, this is getting absurd."

The hollow corpse that was the Rexford had been brought back from the dead through some serious form of zombification. There was actual shit in the lobby, complete with a fully-stocked looking bar, several couches for people to use for sitting, a rug from door to desk, and an explosion of glass hanging from the high ceiling. The glass in question was made up of broken liquor, and Nuka bottles, and strewn between them were bare but very lit and intact bulbs. It was art in quiet motion, the breeze carried in from the outside world stirring against the shards and causing patches of color to fall in dappled light across the faded wallpaper of the foyer. 

The glass was mostly at the center of the room, but on the rounded edges of the walls flanking the desk red banners hung, reminding Mads of the Memory Den, and a certain clean cut of masculinity they had run into earlier.

Looking up at the glittering danger above them, they figured that the people of the hotel probably knew what they were doing. "That...that a fire hazard," Mads asked dumbly to a man seated at one of the sofas nearby.

The old engineer, as Mads could only remember him, grunted from behind his newspaper, his voice carrying up over the parchment, "Thought the place needed some color."

"You did all that," Mads asked, and stepped over into the small sitting area. There was a table on the rug at the center, an array of old mags sprawled out on the wood. An ashtray sat nearest to the man's knee, one of his stocky legs crossed over the other. 

He folded the paper over the green jeans of his jumpsuit and gave Mads a neutral look from under the brim of his hat. White bearded and dark skinned, Mads had only talked to him a handful of times in game, and mostly only for the one quest the guy had to offer. But they hadn’t forgotten where to find him, even if his name still eluded them...

"Used to all be strewn out on the streets," he goes on, motioning off towards the door. "Figured it was better somewhere else besides another one of the trash heaps in the city."

Knowing that there was a story there, a story Mads had heard next to nothing of since their reintroduction to Goodneighbor proper, they couldn't help themselves. They moved around one of the chairs to sit down without breaking their gaze from the old man, and leaning into their legs with both elbows, they had to ask, "Were you there when the fight happened?"

"Sure, you'd have to have more than a few screws loose to miss the mess outside. Vic and his men were hard shit, but I've lived long enough to get around crooks like him. Didn't have anywhere else to go after," he said, one eyebrow going up as he gave a slight shake to his head. He paused for a minute, as if waiting for Mads to budge, but when an inch didn't give Mads nearly smiled as he went on.

Being the engineer for the city allowed Rufus Rubins to get around in ways others couldn't. He knew the ends and out of the streets top to bottom, the location of the air duct and circuit breaker, to where certain tunnels broke off into rubble, and when others led just far enough outside to allow some people to slip in without notice. 

“We hoarded whatever weapons we could find, hid them behind pipelines and in ceiling tiles. And all the while Vic and his crew never thought twice about the old mechanic that fixed their toilets,” he was saying, and Mads followed every word, absolutely enthralled. 

Mads saw the spark in his eyes as he spoke, words as level and calm as when they first walked through the door, and Charlie promised themselves that they wouldn't forget his name again.

“When the night came, we led the young and elderly into the sewers. Hancock was among the fighters, helping lead the charge, and in the middle of it all, he was turning Ghoul.” 

That caught Mads off guard: they always thought that John McDonough had taken the drug and faced his Ghoulification right there, in the heart of the Old State House, where he would take up his coat and become John Hancock.

“He went through that while he was...?”

Rufus nodded, expression changing for the first time as he frowned at the memory. “Never saw it first hand, but it looked nasty. His nose was gone, nothin’ but a hole in his face. Those marks of his, in his face,” he runs one finger down his cheek, from the bottom of one eye to his chin. “Looked like some demon had tried clawing at his face, trying to get at his eyes. And those,” Rufus shakes his head. “Swimming with blank ink, like an oil spill in the sky. Hardly anything left of his hair, but it was hard to mistake the fella with the way he talks.."

Maybe the concept art wasn’t too far off, after all, Mads thought. They’d seen the scraggly haired mark ups of the mayor online plenty of times. They’d been wildly interesting, but like most concept material they saw of video games, it didn’t quite match up to the person in the game. Would I actually be disgusted by him if I saw him rotting before my eyes?

Mads wasn’t sure, but then again, they’d probably never know. They’re distracted from the conversation only momentarily, but Rufus’ voice draws them back into the present moment, with only one thought left on their mind behind: Maybe I could ask someday? 

"After Vic was hung up and we got to lookin' after this place, there was a lot of cleaning up to do, and I don't just mean the blood. The bastard let things go to hell in every which way, as long as he had what he wanted, the rest of us could rot, and the city with it. We took all that, patched it together, and made what we have now," he said, arms crossed and brown eyes glancing up at the shards hanging nearby. "Beautiful but dangerous, pulled out of the wreckage and polished to a shine." 

Mads thought a handshake was in order, but hearing Rufus’ speech made this reality feel a little more real than they were used to, and as a result their usual anxiety around people crept up with a vengeance. Unable to string their words correctly to express how happy they were to have met him, "You're really something, you know," they said lamely, and Rufus huffed a breath, the first hint of a laugh since their conversation began.

"So, he said."

A question leapt to Mads mind as to who “he” was, but they quieted it as the man sat back down, returning to his antiqued reading material and moving on with his day. 

Hardly moving on with theirs, Mads thought to approach the desk. A room would probably be necessary if they planned on staying in 'Neighbor overnight...or forever, as they were partial too even before all of the changes to the script. 

Mads was quietly wondering if the lady at the front was secretly a part of the operation to take back the town while the receptionist signed them up for a room. In the middle of being handed their key a body sidled up next to the desk.

"Hey, buddy, you the new bird?"

" _Why...?_ Do I need to change my hair?" Mads picked at their blonde fringe, turning slightly as a very questionably smelling someone gave them a friendly smile, the sort that said wonders on it’s own before a word was uttered: "Heard you were going around town helping people out."

Oh, it was this guy. Gray hair, homeless looking. More so than most people, right after the Nuka-Cola guy in Diamond City, that is. But Mads didn't like this guy and didn't bother to hide it in the tight lacing of their tone either, "Something like that-."

"Good, just the person I need," he said, perking right up, and slapped Mads on the shoulder. "Look, if you don't-"

"No," Mads shrugged off his touch, fisting their key and moving around the man, who's smile from before had suddenly begun to slip. 

His voice came up from behind their turned back, "But, you didn’t even-."

Mads gave a quick turnabout on both heels, pointing at his chest with both hands, "You wanted to know if I could go to a certain HalluciGen Inc., pick up something questionable, and pass it off for fifty well-earned caps." Mads couldn't help the upturned waggle of their fingers at this, their expression remaining flat with a serious lack of excitement. 

"What-" The man's eyes shot to the receptionist at the desk, who was already fixing the man with a withering glance, "God Fred, how hard is it to lay off the drug crap and do your actual job?"

"C'mon Clair," he rolled his eyes and shook his head, giving up on making any obvious excuses. "You know what brings in the real caps. All the guys from the street need rooms, but it's not going to feel like a vacation until you take a trip, you understand that!"

"I understand that there are halls that need to be swept, and trash thrown out," Clair spat back, hair bobbing as she sarcastically mimicked him with a twitch of her head. 

Thanking the lady silently again for their room, Mads stepped away from the both of them, almost sighing when a patter of steps followed near behind. Fred stopped them at the beginning of the staircase, ignoring Claire's warning about scaring guests without turning. "C'mon, if you know what I need, and you know for how much, what's the harm-."

"What's the harm? Fred, that gas is toxic," Mads said to the man, speaking up and looking down square into his eyes from the few steps they had managed to gain upwards. "HalluciGen is crawling with Gunners made mad from being exposed to an experimental gas they were going to use in the war. Chems are all well and good for a quick high, but there's a difference between huffing cow manure and a mental mustard bomb!" They leaned in closer, easily forgetting the alcohol on his breath for the warning on their own. "And if that makes it to the mayor, Vic's not going to be the only person hung out to dry."

Mads chose to take the pasty pallor of Fred's already questionable visage and continued their ascent up the stairwell, grateful the conversation was over. A clear 180 from the discussion they had only moments before. 

He may not care, a voice warned into Mads head, and hissed out a breath in the middle of their trek when they realized that avoiding HalluciGen wasn't an option. Fred would just hire someone else, and if the drug made it big enough, it was going to reach the big boy himself. 

Hancock’s figure silhouetted by the shadow of the room, Mads couldn’t forget that. Might never forget it, actually. The way his eyes shone against the dark, and with the afternoon light reaching for the narrow frame of his shoulders like a lover’s fingers slipping across that red, red fabric. Call it obsession, or infatuation, or any other rose just as sweet, but Mads felt a sudden fierce need to protect this world’s version of the man. They’d raze HalluciGen to the ground and see Fred’s confidence burn with it if they had to.

Mads made themselves breathe, but only once they were hidden behind the four walls of their hotel room. Collapsing onto their rented bed, they breathed in the foreign smell of a previous occupant, and salvaged Abraxo soap. The wild anxiety in their chest settled to a dull, uncomfortable hum under Mads’ skin. Call it their own personal brand of weird, but virtual reality or no, it was difficult to loosen up around people when they seemed so damn...lifelike. 

There was no screen to hide behind. People were physically close to their person, and tall. Damn, it was...strange as hell locking eyes with people that were previously just figments of Mads’ imagination. Technically, they still were. But the smell of a fired gun in the air, the ambience of the people in the street, just...all of it, literally made it seem so real.

That was the point, but it hiked Mads’ awareness of themselves up to ten. 

They weren’t sure when they would get used to the experience, and for the most part, they didn’t mind that. But standing on the receiving end of the mayor’s scrutiny reminded Mads about another reason why they joined this little project to begin with. To meet him. To meet all of them. To live out a whole new life, with a new face, and have a new adventure in a world they already knew, inside and out. 

I didn’t opt into this to do what I do back home, they thought, finally sitting up. The bedding was rough, a hundred plus years' worth of a rewashing kind of rough. Touching it was an experience in and of itself, and there was so much more just waiting outside.

And who knows when they’ll pull the plug. Better enjoy what I can while it lasts. 

Charlie’s sour mood from earlier was watered down to nothingness when they were back out among the street vendors and painted brickwork, the walls of the street latticed with greenery and the cracks of time. 

"Important stuff, important stuff only," they chanted to themselves, adjusting their pack while looking around from their perch on the steps of the Rexford, before setting off. Important stuff, like comic books from a man with straw hair and a splintered smile. Binoculars from a kid and their starry skied blanket, and an only slightly questionable, bitter tasting mutfruit from someone leaning out of the tank buried into the side of the road. So many important things, Charlie wasn't sure if they'd have room for something as an afterthought like ammunition. 

Mads was contemplating a bushel of curling flowers when they saw a familiar face cross the road and disappear into a back alley. Spitting out the last of the seeds from their mouth, they made the move to follow, mouth setting into a solid frown. Their earlier rage was back with a vengeance, and it had a new target. Time to cut this off at the bud. 

Bobbi's alley was trash free, and graffiti scrawled itself over its sides, dated now or two hundred years passed, Mads could only tell by the vibrancy of the paint. Her door was closed shut, and Charlie didn't pause for a second in knocking against the steel with a heavy fist. 

A click passed, and then the small window set into the door slid open, revealing the deep, black eyes of a certain Ghoul with a chip on their shoulder. "No soliciting!" 

"Hey, are you No-Nose?"

"Who's asking?" Straight to the point, good. 

"You know your bot loving cohort from out of town," Charlie started, sweeping a hand over their hair, and basically barreling forward without much of an idea if they were going to get anywhere. "The guy who looks like Van Gogh?" 

"How the fuck do you know Mel?"

"Look, I broke the guy out of prison in Diamond City and he said if I needed work, I should find you," Mads took a stab at the guarded face, and really not bothering with their usual sunny disposition with this one. No-nonsense, No-Nose, Mads couldn't remember if the lady ever cracked a smile during her entire quest.

I'm totally bullshitting this, but you'd thank me if you knew, Mel, Mads thought, considering the robotics expert in question they'd never actually met in person. 

"Said you knew what to do with my type."

Bobbi's glare squinted, obviously considering Mads again, but they couldn't tell if she was unimpressed or not. Unimpressed was probably one of her default moods. 

"And what is your type?"

Mads broke into a beaming smile, and they pulled the cap-bag from their belt with a sweeping gesture, "A conversationalist!" Their face went dead pan, "Let's talk."

Bobbi only paused for a beat. Then the panel slid shut again, and the door opened up, giving Mads ample opportunity to kick it square in, and square into her face, if the yelp of pain had anything to say about it. 

Mads swept inside, closing the door behind them and moving forward while Bobbi remained holding their face in their gnarled hands on the ground. Removing the pistol from behind their hip, Mads dug the nasty end of the barrel into the side of her skull, recognizing the flash of fear and swallowing down the nausea they felt from having caused it. 

"You're going to rob Goodneighbor."

"The fuck did Mel tell you," Bobbi asked with a spit, blood the dirt on the ground, and Mads acknowledged the newly split lip she was sporting with a passing glance. 

"Jack all, I've never met the man, but what I know is that you plan on stabbing the mayor in the back and I'm not hot on the idea."

"How the hell did you find out, then," Bobbi asked with her teeth bared, holding herself up with both palms now and not bothering to cover up the mess Mads had made. "I haven't started yet, so as far as I'm looking, you don't have a lick of evidence proving I'm doing anything."

Shit, whatever. No tunnel, no problem. "I don't need to, you're already on his shit list. Do you really think he's going to hesitate with your track record?"

And please, will someone tell me what that is exactly? Their history together had all been glossed over in game, but given John's morals, Mads had to guess they wouldn't get along well with Bobbi, either. Bobbi started to open her mouth, but a shuffle of feet on wood shut them both up.

Someone stood at the top of the stairs to the basement, and Mads pressed the gun harder against Bobbi's head when they saw the gleam of their yellow hard hat under the poor lighting of the room. "Seriously?"

"What, I'm not allowed to have a friend over," Bobbi bit back lamely, with all the bite of a dog properly cornered. 

"Does this mean I'm not getting paid," the person sighed from underneath their mustache, looking three types of tired with mud on their jeans, wrinkles under their eyes, and anything but remorse in their gaze as they spotted their employer on the floor. 

"100 caps if you fess up to the mayor."

"And wind up dead, you kidding?"

"You're just a guy doing his job. Didn't you hear his inauguration speech?" The man shrugged...but looked less likely the bolt the second Mads looked away. "Bobbi on the other hand won't stop while she's ahead, and she was about to let you run full tilt into mire lurk territory." 

"What?" 

Bobbi started to sputter a response, but Mads cut her off. "I'm over this, let's go." Grabbing the Ghoul's shoulder, Mads hefted her to her feet, all the while trying to keep the gun pressed into her hair, now slightly skewed from the drama. 

"What are you doing to do with me? Take me out back and shoot me for his majesty's sake?"

"Nope," Mads replied, popping the p sarcastically, and letting their fingers dig into the material of the shirt through her vest. No telling how slippery Bobbi really was but Mads had some idea. "I'm taking you to him directly. I may not be keen on the idea of anyone trying to screw him over but I know better than to finish someone's business for them. Except for yours. But you deserve it." 

Both hands at her side, Bobbi's glare remained fixed on Mads as they nodded at the worker to open the door and lead the way. They had fallen quiet, but Mads figured they were looking forward to a nice nap more than anything and getting this over with.

"You're the kid who negotiated with the triggerman," Bobbi stated simply as they walked.

"Yeah, news travels, huh," Mads replied, but without sarcasm. Of course, Bobbi would know, with her ears to the ground as they had to be with her work, but more than likely it would be old news by the next day. Small towns. Settlements, whatever. 

"Getting friendly with the man in charge, how cliché. And pathetic. Didn't your momma teach you to handle things on your own?"

"And I’m handling them," Mads replied, nodding to a guard as his eyebrows shot up with their passing. A few others standing or walking around took a moment to stare but moved on pretty quickly. Just another day. Only the guard at the House door stopped with them a grin, "Whoa, special delivery, huh?"

"Don’t know if Hancock’ll thank me for this one,” is Mads’ answer, right before they shove their gun into the back of No-Nose's head to get her moving through the door. 

“Well, would you look at this,” Hancock’s voice is a rasp as he leans casually in the center of his office, eyes glinting dangerously over his new audience. “You just keep bringing me all sorts of interesting opportunities, Charlie.” His eyes meet Mads as they stand next to Bobbi, making no effort to hide the gun they have leveled with the other Ghoul’s back. 

Hancock isn’t alone. There's a suit in attendance, a Ghoulified guard with their red hair tied back in a knot on their head, and a Smoothskin with a stare more dangerous than any bullet. Which was saying something, considering Ashmaker, which Fahrenheit must be keeping under her pillow during its current absence from her side. 

Mad’s eyes wanted to drink in their surroundings like a parched throat during a radstorm, but they don’t allow their eyes to flit from the people or the pivotal moment before them. It’d been mere hours since their last run in with John, and true to character they can’t read the man well enough to tell if he’s happy to see them or not. 

“Hiring common thugs, John? See you haven’t changed,” Bobbi bit out, wincing as Mads’ gun pressed into the thick of her throat. 

John chuckled, “Think you forgot who you’re talking to. I am a common thug.” Standing up from his desk, John’s eyes flicked to Mads. “Now Mads here, after what I’ve witnessed, they’re hardly common. And I didn’t hire them.”

Mads stamped down the flush of surprise they felt from the comment, in time to catch Bobbi as she snapped back at the mayor: “Then care to tell me why some kid just knocked down my door and threatened to put a bullet in my face?”

“Better question,” his voice tightened, “What the hell did you do to deserve it?” Hancock’s attention was on Mads, and Charlie would be amazed later how quickly they could respond when proper angry. 

“Bobbi was burrowing a tunnel to your store house outside of town,” Charlie started, moving in as Bobbi started to sputter. “She was going to rob the place blind, working through mirelurk territory and eventually traveling through the subway to get underneath. If you go to her place, you can see the tunnel, and this man can attest to her business.”

John looked at the miner as the man fidgeted in place, failing to take a step forward now that the whole room was staring at the poor guy. “That true, friend?”

“Uh, yeah. Uh, I mean, Ms. No-Nose hired us to dig a tunnel. She didn’t give any details; just said she’d pay us up front, extra if we kept quiet.” 

“Waste of good caps,” Bobbi hissed through her teeth.

“Quiet, eh? I’d say that’s definitely damn suspicious,” John said, smiling, but not in any way that provoked the sort of warm fuzzies Charlie dreamed about. “Still, as much of a fan I am to your shit, Bobbi, we might need a little more to go off of outside of the word of a stranger.”

A puddle of nausea formed in Charlie's gut. But...it made sense, honestly. Charlie would appreciate it later, the more depth to his character the better, and they couldn’t expect him to trust them right off the back. Luckily, Charlie knew their shit.

“In her house there’s a computer with journal entries featuring her plan,” Mads said, not blinking as the anger in Bobbi's face faltered. Since entering the House, she actually looked scared, and Charlie felt a cold wash of satisfaction knowing that things were working their way. “She has a mole in the State House. They gave her a copy of a pre-war city planner, and she’s using that to get to your Safe.”

John’s expression changed in an instant. It was subtle as a breeze shifting direction in the summer, but as poignant as a knife through the ribs. “Erik.”

“Got it,” Fahrenheit spoke for the first time, crushing her cigarette in a tray on a table beside one of the couches in the room. 

Bobbi’s breath escaped in a rush, the woman’s attention snapping to Fara as the guard passed Charlie and out the door. The Ghoul with the red hair followed after their boss, leaving Bobbi, John, and Mads alone. 

“We got the guy already. Caught him snooping through my desk. Lucky, I decided to come home early from karaoke,” John explained. Mads’ jaw clacked as they fought the laugh that nearly broke out from between their teeth. John? Karaoke? Talk about a fever dream. 

John brow lifted somewhat at Mads, his rage abating for a second they could have only imagined, but it disappeared quickly as can be. “Figured the new guy needed some caps to rub together, thought robbing the mayor himself might be a good target. I gave him a slap on the wrist. Happens that he’s still in town.”

“God damnit,” Bobbi muttered. 

“I’ve got eyes all over town, Bobbi. Just ‘cause I support the people’s right to live how they want, doesn’t mean I don’t know better.”

“Shut your smug mug, you bastard! I’m sick of the shit you pull, coming around beating down anyone who even thinks of knocking you off that damn high horse of yours!”

“You want the job, you can come and take it. As far as I can tell, it was me and my boys that threw Vic off his,” John said, voice hardly raising at all as it continued to twist into a deadly point. Charlie gave them room as the man stepped up, grabbed the woman by the scruff of her shirt, and looked Bobbi dead in the face. “The second I get to where he was, I trust my people to do what I did and hang me out to dry. All I see is now is some piece of shit with their head up their ass. You see farmland around here, Bobbi? You hit the town’s treasury, and we ain’t got caps to feed the town. You got a problem, take it up with me, and take it up with the ones who put me here, take it up with your damn self.”

Finn at the gates, Charlie realized then they’d never got to see that happen. His murder by Hancock’s hands, shortly after the Survivor would have entered the city. Charlie didn’t know where Finn was now, but they could see the scene just the same here as it was in the game. This time, there was no weapon save for John’s mouth, and every word hit something vital. As he stepped away, Bobbi’s breath came in a hiss, and she slumped into herself.

Right before she lunged at the mayor, someone’s arm shot out to grab her by her shirt. Fahrenheit kicked the woman’s knee in from behind, causing Bobbi to fall to the floor with a painful _thunk._

“Did you find him,” John asked, the almost venom-like quality of his voice now completely gone. It was back to business, but lacking entirely in mirth, honest or otherwise. 

“He’s downstairs,” Fara replied, and twisted her fist in Bobbi’s clothing, her other hand keeping the woman pressed to the wooden floor, and between her crouched legs. “Must have seen Bobbi getting hauled in because the guards had him held up at the gate. Their chattiness paid off for once." She glanced down at the ghoul. "What do you wanna do with this one?”

Hancock didn’t reply straight away, but Charlie didn’t expect him to begin considering them with the question in the air. “That ain’t up to me,” he said, Fara’s steely gaze swiveling up to the man in charge. “Bobbi might have been trying to do me over, but I’m not the one who had the good fortune to catch her in the act. Far as I can tell, you’ve got rights.”

He was leaving it up to Mads to kill Bobbi. Kill her, deal with her, one way or another. Charlie just had their weapon pressed to the Ghoul’s skull, but actually pulling the trigger, would they have done that? They’d killed plenty before, scores only an hour before. Nameless men, done in not for a job, but worse, just to meet John. 

It was weird, before it didn’t matter, but this was someone with a name. Someone Charlie had never even killed in the game, simply because sparing who they could, when they could, was just how they did things. They would have spared raiders, even, if it was an option. 

Why did that need to change now?

“Throw her out,” Charlie said, shrugging as they holstered their weapon. For once the mayor seemed taken off guard, and that was all Mads needed to be sure about their decision. “Bobbi was relying on others to get her way, but she’s all out of assets. She’s clever, maybe clever enough to move north, and never look back.” Bobbi narrowed her eyes at Charlie’s pointed glance, still suffering under Fara’s hold.

“I’d sooner shoot myself then say thank you,” she said, spit dotting the floor as she tried to speak against the wood.

“Good, that’d honestly be uncomfortable for the both of us.”

John huffed a laugh, and the sound further loosened the muscles in Mads’ shoulders. It was working out, holy hell. “You heard them,” he said, the danger passed, and Fara met his eyes. She shrugged herself...and got off of Bobbi. Not bothering to help the other woman up, Fara pulled out another stick of tobacco, lighting it up without further comment. 

Bobbi struggled to her feet, holding a no doubt bruised, at best, shoulder, and leveling the man with a tired glare. “I’m not done-.”

“Don’t think I heard a single stutter from Mads over here,” he said, accepting Fara’s cigarette as she offered it when he walked up beside her. He took a drag, and handed it back, exhaling slowly as Fahrenheit placed it back between her lips and considered Charlie under long lashes. 

The mayor's dark eyes met Bobbi's: "Get the fuck out.”

Mads would go on to remember a few experiences of their time in the Commonwealth more clearly than others. The feeling of a Radroach’s shell against bare skin (positively revolting, when they’re still wriggling). The sink of Molerat teeth into every inch of their body (but they liked to save that sweet memory for when they were trying to sleep). And the coppery taste of a bitten through tongue after a good left hook, if only to name a few.

But some experiences were good, and one of those belonged to seeing Hancock lean into the wooden railing of the State House balcony, the dying light of the day cutting through the haze of smoke that came from his lit cigarette and disappearing into the crisp air around them. 

Mads was vibrating with energy, an energy that lingered from both the altering of the plot with Bobbi’s derailed plans and the knowledge that they were standing here, now, with the mayor himself. Like old friends, except on the guards inside, by the stairwell, was giving them a real eyeballing. They probably trusted Hancock to take care of himself. Now, some fresh gossip, on the other hand, that was ripe for the picking. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, kid,” Johns voice came suddenly, but not unwelcome. Mads pulled their eyes away from the lingering stare of the guard, and blinked in surprise at the apology. They leaned into the railing, joining him with their back against the peeling paint, and their arms crossed on their chest.

“About what, mister mayor? Not offering me a cold beverage?”

It hurt just to say, and Mads hoped John didn’t see their flush of embarrassment from the corner of his eye. The mayor chuckled on the same, straightening up, and looking every bit like the cut of living steel that he was as he presented Mads with his full attention once more.

“Making you decide on what to do with Bobbi. Should have taken out the trash myself, instead of pushing it on someone that just walked into town,” he confessed, and Mads’ eyebrows raised a hair. John smirked a bit, seeing their surprise for what it was, and his hand waved in the air gently, flicking his cigarette with unconscious ease. “I’ve been getting kind of rusty with the dispensing of justice around here, lately. Gone soft with my time in the chair.”

Soft, like heads caved in, bullets shot. 

Mads shook their head, dislodging the...memory, and only partially used the subject at hand as a reason for their sudden frown. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders, up here. But I kind of get what you mean, as much as a total stranger could having just stepped into Goodneighbor for the first time and having no firsthand knowledge at leading a town full of people,” they said in a bit of a rush, realizing how insulting they were by saying they understood, and sort of...plowing through it. “What with Vic, and all.”

“You heard the story, I take it.”

“I’ve heard everything about you,” Mads laughed, and they meant everything. But admitting that would only warrant a bullet in the head. 

“Nothing good, I hope,” John smirked, a razor's edge set into a handsome face, if they’d ever seen one. But the ghoul was clearly amused, and Mads had to fight off another blush. “But I’m serious, ain’t how things should be done around here. And I need to thank you for nipping the damn issue in the bud before it turned into a thorn in my boot.”

“Sounds like Bobbi’s been an issue for a while,” Charlie said, mostly in conversation. Honestly the solid piercing of his dark eyes were getting to a bit of a heavy weight to carry, and Mads needed a distraction. 

“That’s putting it lightly,” the mayor chuckled. He looked over the broken skyline of his town, and his home, his tobacco left neglected between his fingers. It was maybe his third one since dealing with Bobbi. He’d gone down and talked to Erik while Mads was left, on guard, in the state house stairwell. They didn’t know what had transpired exactly, but a muttering from a pair of passing suits told them all they needed to know: Erik was getting the same sentence Bobbi was. Banishment from town was a death sentence of it’s own in the ‘Wealth, but at least he had weapon’s training. 

Mads didn’t ask the mayor for details when he showed back up from the basement to walk them over to where they were now. If the mayor was stressed, only the smell of nicotine on his clothing gave it away, but cigarettes for him were probably as necessary as water. 

“Truth is, I don't know if I could do it if I had to," Hancock spoke up, taking Mads by surprise at his confession. His hairless brow rose, catching their own widened eyes, and he went on to explain: "Bobbi. 

"I used to run with the bastard before I became mayor, and she was there for my inauguration. I knew Bobbi couldn’t get away with as much shit with his thugs on the street, but I needed every gun we could find,” John went on. “We knew each other for a while, too long, I'd say. She was never the clean sort, but that’s calling the kettle black. Should have known she’d use the city if it meant getting to me, doesn’t matter who pays for it.”

“No disrespect, sir,” Mads spoke up, and John’s stare swung back to them. “But that kettle is out there in the streets after risking a town's welfare. You saved it. Maybe you're not as similar as you think.”

John huffed a low laugh, running a hand along the inner lining of his coat, “True...no one rocks threads like these.” 

“Now you're laying it on thick.”

He really wasn't, but John was really laughing this time, and Mads was pleased all the same. 

“I like you, kid, I’m glad I didn’t have to shoot you between the eyes earlier after all,” the mayor said, breaking the line of ash in his hand, and taking a smooth drag at the end of his admission. 

“Give it time, mister mayor.”

“Something tells me we’ll have time to get to know each other,” Hancock stated, dropping the remains of his rollup on the ground and grinding it under one polished boot. “And not just because I offered you work earlier. What’s this about being lieutenant of the minutemen?” 

_Christ, I knew that would catch up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The option to check it, I think, is bugged, but Bobbi's terminal does provide information on her plan to break into the safehouse. Originally, Mads was going to follow the entire quest, but I was about as excited to write about that as they would be to go through with it. This was much more satisfying.  
> One may think that Mads sure has had it easy...but that won't always be the case.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small part of a smattering of parts I've had saved for years. It's my go-to comfort story, and is constantly changing. This one is pretty set in stone, and I have the next part written. The third is mostly done. If it sounds weird, it's because I keep updating it randomly after months of not touching it. What do you think?


End file.
